Some Soul of Goodness
Chapter 6
With Warm Tears
They never did more than kiss, but they often found themselves kissing, usually after the evening meal right before retiring to their separate bedrooms for the night. It was a degree of intimacy that Rumple had never enjoyed with his wife. His wife had been tolerate of sex with him, managing to be quite clear about what she preferred, although uncaring as to his needs. And Milah clearly hadn't enjoyed with kissing him, in fact she would sometimes shrink back from his efforts to touch her and hold her.
But the Dark Lady seemed to enjoy being held by him and kissed by him. Sometimes they would end up just gazing into each others eyes. Rumple had become braver and had begun kissing not only her mouth, but kissing her cheeks, her neck and shoulders.
But she did not seem to want more from him. She would stop him if he put his hands on her waist or tried to kiss below her shoulders.
On her part, the Dark One was rethinking many things. She found herself enjoying her Spinner's company and the stimulating physical sensations his light touches and his kisses especially his kisses brought forth. She began to wonder if she was desiring more from him, more than just kissing.
And it was a strange feeling.
It was a frightening feeling.
She had thought the treatment she'd received from Zoso would forever prevent her from enjoying the touch of another, especially the touch of a man. But perhaps, perhaps with this man . . . .
They were spending a quiet afternoon in the main sitting room downstairs in the Castle keep. She had looked up earlier in the afternoon to announce that they would likely be having a visitor. Rumple nodded, but it was apparent that no one was arriving in the immediate future. While the little dragon queen, whom they had named Kari, preened and sunned herself in a patch of sunlight, he went back to practicing his writing.
He was busy preparing his weekly missive to his family, letting them know he was well, alerting them to some of his activities and wishing them the best. They were never far from his mind and there was a permanently empty space in his heart that their absence had created. He had no way to get any reply from them so he did not know what they were thinking had happened to him. He consoled himself that because of his sacrifice the Lady had provided, indeed had more than provided, for their health and well-being.
He glanced up from his writing. The Lady was evidently bored. She had been drinking tea from her favorite chipped cup and, at the moment, she was pretending to spin at his wheel, twirling the wheel with one hand and, as he had seen her do before, turning out strands of silver and gold instead of woolen yarn.
The little dragon suddenly began to squeak and flap her wings. She was most agitated.
"Someone is coming," the Dark Lady announced. "Be careful," she warned Rumple. The little dragon flew up to the high rafters and hid.
The door burst open. A striking brunette in luxurious clothing, velvet and silks, with jewels around her neck and hanging from her ears, swept into the room. She wore a crown and to Rumple's mind it was most apparent that she was a queen.
"You're getting slack, Belle," she announced. "It didn't take any effort to get through your wards."
"About five hours of no effort, Regina dearest," the Dark Lady told her. "I finally took pity on you and took down the last couple of barriers."
Regina sniffed.
"What brings you here?" The Dark Lady asked her.
Rumple remained silent, watching his mistress. This other woman was very powerful, even he could tell that. He kept still, not wanting to attract attention to himself. If he could have faded into the stone walls of the room, he would have.
"Just in the neighborhood," Regina had replied offhandedly, strolling around the room as if quite disinterested.
"I think not. You only seek me out when you want something."
The Queen pulled a face. "I'm still not getting my Curse to play out," Regina complained.
"I've already given you hours of help. There's nothing in this for me," Belle turned away from her 'guest.'
Regina pouted. "Perhaps I could owe you a favor . . . to be repaid at a later date," she wheedled.
"For two people to make a deal, they each have to have something the other one wants. You have nothing I want," The Dark Lady had turned all of her attention back to the spinning wheel.
Regina bit her lip and glanced around the room. She noted the chipped cup. Then her eyes fell on Rumple. "Oh my. Is this your newest pet? I see you took Mal's advice."
"He's the help," his mistress told her watching Regina from the corner of her eye.
Regina ignored her and went over to Rumple, "Stand up," she ordered him. He glanced at his mistress and then complied. He kept his eyes downcast.
Regina looked him over, obviously finding him lacking. "Too short, too narrow in the chest, perhaps a little mature for my tastes, but perhaps he makes up for that with experience. The leather pants suit him well. What say you Belle?" she asked.
"He helps with the roses and the horses. He fixes meals, runs a duster over the place and does the laundry," his mistress explained, shrugging.
"Perhaps you would let me borrow him. Just to give you another opinion," Regina had placed her hand under his chin to lift his face to hers.
Rumple steeled himself so as not to pull away. He thought it likely that his mistress would protect him but he did not want to bring the matter to a head. He did not like this woman or her patronizing, possessive manner. In all his time with his mistress she had never made him feel like he was only a peasant, less than human, but this woman looked at him as if he were an insect or a worm, something she might amuse herself with and then discard.
"Leave him alone," his mistress spoke sharply, standing up. "I think our business is done."
"Oh, come on!" Regina sounded like a child. "I've come all this way and you're just going to throw me out!"
"I don't like guests, especially uninvited ones. I'm asking you to leave freely or I shall throw you out."
Regina released Rumple and stood a moment. Rumple could tell she was trying to get her temper under control. Her eyes had narrowed and she spared him one last appraising look before turning her attentions back at Belle. "I shall not forget this," she promised the Dark Lady and she gathered her skirts around herself and walked out with as much dignity as she could muster.
Rumple found that he was trembling. The Dark Lady had sat down again. She sat quietly without so much as glancing at Rumple. She seemed more focused on her handwork, now a tangle of gold and silver threads, than on anything else. But there came a moment when she looked up and set aside the jumbled mass of finely spun metals. She came over to Rumple.
"Are you all right?" she asked him.
"Milady?" he wasn't sure exactly what she meant. No, he wasn't all right. He felt . . . dirty.
She took his chin much as Regina had, and held his face in place while she looked deep into his eyes. She finally took a breath and let him go. "Regina does not play nicely and often breaks her things. I wouldn't want her to hurt you."
"Milady is kind to be concerned," he told her humbly.
"Well, it's taken me awhile to find a servant as good as yourself. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you."
He dropped his eyes. Is that all she thought about him – that he was a servant, a convenience? Did she care at all about him, as a person, as a man? He wasn't sure. Was she fond of him? He wondered if the Dark Lady even had feelings. Had all the feelings of the princess been burned out of her by the Dark One. He was beginning to question if she had any compassion or any caring within her. He'd thought she had but sometimes, as in this moment, he wasn't so sure.
"I do not like you to be afraid," she told him. She stood on tiptoes to kiss him. He did not immediately kiss her back, feeling as if her concerns were little more than a reflection of her overweening acquisitiveness. He was feeling used.
"You do not want me to kiss you?" she asked him. This was different. He usually seemed to welcome, to enjoy her kisses. She had known that he would become aroused when kissing her. It had at first repelled her but she had become accustomed to his physical response and recognized that it reflected his appreciation of her attentions.
"Do you care for me, Milady, or am I just a pet, as the Queen said?" he asked her. "I mean do you really care about me more than any of your other things? You amuse yourself with me but do you care for me?"
"I do care," she protested, then she altered her response. "As much as I can." She stepped away from him, her face troubled and she struggled for words. "You are . . . important to me. I . . . I would be upset if something happened to you. I want you to be happy, Rumple," she began and stopped. "I have nothing more to offer you. There is a wall around my heart and I cannot give you affection or love. Is it not enough that I enjoy your company, your kisses, your touch?"
"My touch, Milady? I have kissed you, but I have yet to touch you," he couldn't stop some bitterness from coming through.
He looked at her, small and vulnerable, delicate and fragile in appearance. She was incredibly beautiful and, although he knew in his heart that she was a Force of Darkness, she often seemed like a girl to him, a sweet innocent young woman. If he were still a village lad and she that girl, he might have wooed her, offered his hand in marriage to her. He cared for her more than he wanted to admit and it made his heart ache to think that she might not be able to ever love him.
She was confused at his answer. She was shaking her head. "You touch me all the time," she protested.
"I mean really touch you!" he told her, suddenly putting his hands on her arms. "Let me. I won't hurt you. Let me touch you," he said to her. And carefully, feeling a bit like a male spider wooing the female, knowing that she was capable of turning on him and snapping his neck, he slowly began to kiss her and gently began to use his hands to pull off her the shoulder straps of one her silken slips. She pulled back. "I won't hurt you," he promised her again. "Let me, let me touch you."
She dropped her eyes and he felt her take a deep breathe. He gave her some time and she seemed to relax.
"You know I think you're more beautiful than any other woman I've ever seen," he reassured her. He threaded his fingers through her hair and then down to her face to cup her chin. "I won't hurt you," he slowly repeated one more time.
Moving with glacial speed, he pulled her down to the comfortable sofa that graced the room, all the while removing layer after layer of her clothing. She was left in her lacy undergarments and seemed uncomfortable. She shivered – he knew from nervousness, not from cold - she used her hands to cover herself.
"No," he told her grasping her hands and pulling them down. "Let me look at you, please. You know I think you're beautiful." He kissed her and leaning back he began to slip the last of the straps down from the final garment that covered her body. She was slowly revealed, her pert breasts with their hardened peaks, her flattened stomach. She still wore lacy panties unlike any he had ever encountered certainly quite different from the coarse linen bloomers his wife had worn. He marveled at the blue scales that covered her body. They were smaller and lighter in color on her breasts and stomach. He brushed his hand over her and she managed to lie still. He kissed her mouth, then her neck and gently laid his hand on one of her breasts. He realized she was breathing hard, not from passion but fear.
"Milady, what is your name?" he asked her. He had learned it already from the Blue Fairy and from the Queen. But he wanted to hear it from her, he wanted her to tell him her name, to give him her name.
"Belle," she told him. "I'm Belle."
"Belle," he called her by name. "I want to give you pleasure. I can give you pleasure."
"Please Rumple. I . . . I'm scared," she confessed.
He took a moment to grasp that this very powerful woman was afraid, afraid of him? afraid of what they were about to do? "Are you a virgin?" he asked her. He didn't think she was but he had to know.
"No, "she whispered. "But there was just one other."
"He mistreated you? He hurt you?" Rumple asked, the suspicion he had long held surging forth in his mind.
There was no answer for a while. "Yes," she finally told him in a barely heard whisper.
"And you have never known tenderness?"
"No," she admitted briefly looking up and making glancing eye contact.
He stopped debating his next move. He knew what he should do. She wasn't ready for a real physical relationship. He needed to provide her with pleasure without . . . well without perhaps finding it for himself. "Please Belle. I will stop if you ask me to. But I want to touch you in a way you have not experienced. I want to give you pleasure."
She didn't move for a moment for a long moment but then reluctantly nodded.
He began again kissing her, using his lips and his tongue and slowly working his way down to her breasts. He marveled at the smoothness, the warmth of her skin. He ran his thumb over a nipple and was rewarded with a rapid pebbling.
"Nice," he whispered. He leaned in and she gasped when he latched onto a nipple and suckled.
"Very nice," he heard her answering breathless whisper. He allowed his hand to rest on her stomach above her lacy panties and, again, he felt her clench up.
"Shhh," he whispered against her ear, kissing her ear lobe and then down her neck. "I'm not going to hurt you," he repeated his promise yet again.
He pulled back enough to see that she had closed her eyes and was breathing deeply, as if she was trying to sooth herself, calm herself.
"Good girl," he murmured a part of him wincing that he had called this all-powerful woman 'girl.'
He moved so that he was kneeling on the floor and his hand dropped so that now he was just approaching the top of the delicate juncture between her legs. He heard her whimper.
"You're going to be all right," he reassured her. "Here, put your hand on top of mine," he directed her. "It's just my hand. I'm not holding you down." What the all hell had happened to her? And slowly he felt her muscles soften as she began to relax. He shifted his hand just slightly.
And then he began to move his fingers, moving in tiny circles, using just the slightest of pressures.
"Look at me," he told her and her blue eyes opened. The pupils were expanded, no longer the cat eye slits but not to the point the entire eye was blackened with the Dark energies.
She was aroused.
He kissed her again, kneeling up to focus on her neck and the tender sensitive point where her shoulder began. She shivered.
He had shifted his hand down ever so slightly and he could tell she was damp. He shifted a little more. No, she wasn't damp, she was wet.
For a brief moment, he was thankful to the harridan harpy that had been his former wife. As much as she had complained about his inadequacies, she had taught him precisely the places a man needed to attend to so as to provide a lady a good time. He drew on that bit of information and earnestly addressed himself to Lady Belle's delicate female parts.
He was gratified when there was a sharp intact of air. "Oh my!" she gasped. He continued with his attentions, his gentle massaging, his sure stimulation. He watched and she shifted, opening her legs just a bit more, lifting her body just a little bit.
"Relax, Milady. Just enjoy yourself. I'm not going to do anything else," he promised her. He had not removed her panties, hoping it would help her, prevent her from freezing and ordering him to stop. As much as he wanted to slip a finger into her, to bury himself in her, he would not. Given her abrupt resistance to any sudden moves on his part, he firmly believed that there was something traumatizing in her past.
Besides she could melt him if he irritated her.
He took his time, allowing her to move as she needed to, to follow his fingers, to re-position herself. All the while his own cock had lengthened and hardened so that it was uncomfortable in his tight leather pants. As he knelt on the floor by the sofa, his own movements were causing him to rub himself, providing unintentional stimulation. But he wanted to hold off on his own pleasure - he had to hold off his own pleasure. He recognized that what was happening now was most difficult for her, that she was overcoming some very real limitations, some real barriers. He was intent on watching her face and the movements of her body and using these to guide his actions. She would alternately mew, purr and whimper as he continued his efforts, and he felt good knowing that she was definitely responding. She rolled slightly, burying her head in his shirt, her hand grasping the fabric, holding onto him.
"Rumple!" she suddenly cried out and her body stiffened and then she began to tremble. Feeling her come undone by his fingers was too much for him and he groaned as he spilled himself into his breeches.
Her eyes blinked open. "What? That was . . . Thank you," she said, struggling to speak sensibly. She was soft and warm and he gathered her into his arms, kissing her face. "Oh, you're wet," she said suddenly noticing.
Embarrassed he kissed her nose. "I was so caught up in you reaching your pleasure that I . . . I lost a little control. I'm very sorry," he told her.
"Oh," she said with sudden understanding. "Rumple, Rumple. Please," and she laid her hand on his cheek. "I need a moment." And she lifted herself up to kiss him . . . "You've done nothing wrong," and then she was gone.
He sat on the sofa a moment and then felt a swirl of magic, cleaning and drying his pants. He looked up and smiled, "Thank you."
Belle was confused.
The Spinner had been supposed to help around the Castle doing the mundane chores and, from time to time, he was to provide her with company when she was so inclined.
When had he become more than that? She had allowed him to touch her, really touch her and she had experienced something she had never known. She had been afraid there were no feelings left inside but now . . . but now she was afraid there was too much, too many feelings for her to manage.
He did matter to her. She did care for him. He had power over her and his power over her was growing.
The Dark Voices of her Curse were howling at her – he was gaining control over her – she should shackle him, put him in chains, use him, use him up and then discard him.
He was dangerous.
She had allowed him to dissuade her from taking revenge. He had praised her work with the village folks. He had told her how beautiful he thought she was.
This couldn't go on.
Things became tense between them. She flinched if he came too close so he was careful not to startle her, not to get too close. She seemed almost shy around him and he was less sure of his place with her. He dare not make a second attempt at romancing her. He realized the next move, if there was ever a next move, would have to be up to her.
He was willing to wait.
There were other visitors from time to time. A Dragon Lady that called down their little lizard queen to her came to see them. The Dark Lady took the Dragon Lady up to the North Tower and they chatted.
Another time a mean lady with black and white hair came. She barely gave Rumple a glance and he made sure to stay out of her way.
The Hatter continued to often dropped by, seeming to enjoy Rumple's company as much as the jobs the Lady would assign to him. They continued to talk, the Hatter's sharp eyes taking in much about their relationship.
"She seems nervous around you," he told Rumple one afternoon. "I've never seen her nervous."
"She's not nervous," Rumple quickly disagreed with his friend.
"You're nervous too," the Hatter said sitting down across from him.
"I'm not!" Rumple again spoke quickly.
"Agree or disagree, it won't change that you're both walking on pins and needles around each other. I can cut the tension between you two with a knife. Something's happened. Not quite sure, things have changed but things seem . . . unresolved. Did you have a fight or something?"
Rumple had to acknowledge to himself that the Hatter was a keen judge of character and behavior.
"We're kissing but nothing else but . . . " he began to confess but stopped himself.
"Oh, not a fight then. Things are leading toward . . ." the Hatter hesitated, searching for the right word, "consummation?" he finally asked.
Rumple stood. "I . . .I've fallen in love with her, Hatter. But . . ." he shook his head.
The Hatter sat quietly. "I'm so sorry. I've known her a long time and I can tell you that she does care for you. In her own way, she cares very much for you," he finally said. "It is hard. Love is hard. I loved a woman once."
"But you lost her?" Rumple asked him. "You were blessed. Your love was returned. For me, it's not that she doesn't love me, it's that she cannot love me."
The Hatter sat back, sipping his beer. "Are you so sure? Are we really so sure of that?"
"She's under some the spell of some dark magic."
The Hatter smiled. "But love, True Love, can break any spell. If you have True Love, anything is possible."
Rumple considered this. He had heard this but . . .
Did they have True Love?
Despite the tension and despite the occasional visitors, most of their time was spent in simple activities. Rumple was a man who had spent much of his life living out of doors in a calm routine, often caring for his sheep, at other times, if he was not spinning, he was gardening, growing food for his family. In his new position in the Dark Castle, he was still out of doors for part of the day, tending to the horses, working in the kitchen garden and, less often, tending to the rose bushes. He had noticed the days getting shorter and shorter and had begun to mark where the sun was coming up on a fence rail and where it was going down on one of the castle's crenels. He sensed that it was likely nearly Solstice but couldn't be sure as to which day was going to be the sacred holiday.
He did begin to decorate the main hall and their sitting room with holly and evergreen branches. Rummaging in one of the back rooms, he was able to obtain some white, red, and black ribbons to add to the decorations. His mistress had watched his activities with some amusement.
"Why are you placing dead plants around my hall?" she finally asked him.
"For the Solstice, Milady," he answered promptly. "I'm not sure what day it will actually be, but I thought having some seasonal decorations would be pleasant." He caught her puzzled look. "If you would prefer that I not decorate, please tell me. I will remove them instantly."
"No . . . no," The Dark Lady was thoughtful. "I had just forgotten about the trappings that go with the Solstice. It is an important date for some types of magics. I will check my recordings and will tell you when it is."
"Thank you, Milady," he told her. He began to consider if he should prepare a feast for them. She was not always regular with her eating habits so he could conceivably labor for hours only to have her absent.
His chest tightened. This would be the first Solstice he had ever spent away from his son. He had knitted scarves for his Aunt Marjorie and his son using some of the yarn he'd made from black roving that had appeared in his basket. He'd used this rare yarn with the usual cream-colored yarn to make a pattern in the scarf. He would need to ask the Lady if he could have these things delivered to his family.
It was later that evening when the Lady confirmed for him. "It will be tomorrow."
"Thank you. I . . . I have been wondering if it might be possible to get these presents to my family?" He held up the scarves. These items were large and he was hesitant to ask to send large items with the little dove.
She looked at him for a while and nodded. "I think so. Let me see them." And she again called down the white dove that seemed to live invisibly in the rafters. And again she shrunk both items down very small. She whispered something to the dove and the bird flew off.
"Thank you. They'll have them on Solstice morning then," he said. "Milady, I would serve a special meal tomorrow if you would join me?" he asked her tentatively.
"That would be lovely," she told him and smiled, both of them enjoying the mitigation of tensions between them, even if it were for only a moment.
"I do not know the customs of Avonleigh for this holiday, but in my village we would give presents to those who were special to us," he told her hesitantly.
She looked at him, her cat-like eyes focused steadily on him. She said nothing.
"I . . . I . . . have been presumptuous enough to have made you . . . this," and he handed her a small package that he had wrapped in the burlap that some of the grain would appear in. It was the traditional wrapping material that his people used.
She looked at the package for a moment.
"You can open it now, since it is Solstice Eve or, if you prefer, wait until morning and open it then." He was getting concerned. She only sat and looked at the package.
Slowly she unfastened the ribbon that he had used to tie the package and the burlap fell open. She picked up the soft item that had been concealed. It was an exquisite finely knitted lacy scarf made of the finest spun rabbit hair. He had managed to work into some of the lace work some of the fine strands of gold that she had idly spun.
She looked at it for a long moment, running her fingers over the delicate pattern.
"Milady?" he asked nervously.
"It is beautiful," and she looked up at him. He was stunned to see tears running down her face. "I have never been given such a beautiful gift," she told him. She stood and wrapped it around herself. "I have . . . something . . . ." She got up and left the room for a moment. Rumple waited, concerned and anxious. When she returned she wordlessly handed him a small wooden box.
He opened it and found a charmed-sized irregularly shaped piece of porcelain. It had been outlined in silver and mounted on a chain. "I . . . I wasn't expecting anything," he told her honestly. "This is very nice." He held it up to look at it, clearly puzzled as to what it was.
"It's magic. I made it from the cup you chipped your first day here when you were so nervous."
"The chipped cup you drink from," he realized what the charm was now – the missing piece.
She shrugged. "It reminds me of the Before Time." She brightened up, "Should we ever be separated and you want me to come to you, you can clasp your hand around it and call my name. If I can, I will come to you."
He found that his own eyes were wet and he wiped them. "Thank you," he told her. He put it over his head. When he looked at her, he saw that she was looking at the floor.
"I actually didn't make this for the Solstice," she confessed. "I had made it and I'd been meaning to give it to you for some time but I just hadn't found the right time. Things are somehow different between us and I . . . I wasn't sure if you would . . . accept anything from me."
"It's all right," he told her and, after a moment of mutual indecision, the two stepped towards each other. He wrapped his arms around her and she brought her arms up to his shoulders. Their kiss soft and tenuous at first, rapidly heated up reflecting now the distilled energies of their brief abstinence. Her head fell back on his arm, her sweet body leaned into his as the kiss deepened. "It's the nicest gift I've ever been given," he managed to murmur.
"I've missed this," she told him. "I've missed you holding me. I . . . I like you holding me."
"I like . . . holding you too," he replied. He knew that he loved her, the good woman and the dark evil entity both but couldn't bring himself to tell her.
They slowly pulled apart, awkwardness again steeping into their motions. The Dark Lady nodded and then turned and left him. She seemed embarrassed at her display of emotion. He smiled. This was turning into one of the most memorable Solstices he'd ever experienced. He cleaned up and took himself to bed. He would get up early and prepare a special meal for them.
In the morning there was a duck in the larder and he prepped it for roasting, using the same procedures he had learned when cooking chicken. He also picked out some sweet potatoes and split some sprouts and began to roast these. He managed a stuffing with day old bread and some herbs.
Despite the sorrow wrapped around his heart, missing his family, wondering about his changing relationship with the Lady, he did feel that there was some happiness to be had in the Solstice. It was, after all, celebrating the birth of a new year.
A.N. Thanks so much to those who sent me a review. Those of you who write know how precious each and every one of these reviews are when they are sent from the heart. Thanks to Wondermorena, orthankg1, Grace5231973, MyraValhallah, TheGoldenHawk, jewel415, Erik'sTrueAngel, CharlotteAshmore, and musicbean2. - twyla